Saints Row 2 and a Half: Generations
by Hafriko
Summary: When The Boss and Gat leave town to chase the traitorous Dex, a new leader steps up to run the city and quickly finds himself facing the wrath of a new enemy with old ties and nothing but cold hard vengeance on his mind. OCs and SR2 survivors*R&R Please!*
1. Steppin' Up

***DISCLAIMER***

Being a Saints Row FanFic, this piece borrows characters, locations, and events from those belonging to VOLITION, INC. All rights respected.

**Chapter 1: Steppin' Up**

Kanto was hopping tonight. The former Ronin Stronghold had barely reopened a week ago from the slaughter of Jyunichi and his goons, and already the dimly-lit eatery was full of the familiar clinks of chopsticks on plates and complaints about the foul smelling spring rolls. At a private table in the back sat two burly looking men lounging behind a wall of muscle-bound guards dressed head to toe in purple and black.

"Look bruv, I wouldn't leave you in charge of my gang unless I thought you up to the task." The unapologetically Cockney accent belonged to Drake Peppermill, Boss of the 3rd Street Saints. He sat in his usual get up of an open plaid button down, black cargos, and boots; all Purple and Black as per the infamous gang colors. His dirty blond hair was gelled up in its neat little spikes and his cobalt colored eyes smirked from behind heavy black framed glasses at his younger brother, Jake who sat across from him.

"Spot on mate, but the _whole_ gang? I mean, I wasn't even a left-tenant a week ago, you sure I'm your man?" Jake questioned, his own green eyes shone with a mixture of surprise and challenge. He was in his own Saints-Themed gear, a Stilwater Sharks jersey and jean shorts, with a fresh pair of kicks. "What about Gat, or Pierce?"

Drake fixed his brother with a glare that Jake could feel chill the very marrow in his bones, and began rolling the mother of all blunts in the middle of the table. Stilwater P.D. be damned.

"You off your damn rocker, mate? Shit, Gat's comin' wif me ain't he? And besides, Pierce can't even handle Shaundi by himself; let alone our city and _this_ crew." He jerked a thumb at the wall of meat that obscured them from the rest of Kanto's customers. "No mate, you're my man, palms to heaven and all that."

Jake knew there was no arguing with his elder brother on this matter, so he simply gave it up. They had been raised…

"Have it your own way then bruv; I'll give it a go then." Jake shrugged his heavy shoulders and leaned forward, elbows on the table. "So, what's the jig, eh?"

Drake sparked the blunt up, taking a huge hit before releasing the haze out of the side of his mouth and answering the question with a THC-induced drawl. "Me and Gat are going to chase that tosspot Dex down and nail his arse to the front door of the goddamned Philips Building for all them Ultor bitches to see what happens when you fuck with the Saints!" He pounded the table with his fist as if to physically hammer home his point.

Just then the unmistakable ring tone of an Ill Wireless phone trilled from inside Drake's pocket. He whipped the phone out, pausing to check the caller ID before answering. It was Gat, so Drake put him on speaker and laid the phone on the table next to his half eaten bowl of egg drop soup which had gone cold an hour ago.

"Yo boss, I ain't getting' any fuckin' younger out here, can we get a move on before Dex's trail gets colder than Maero's corpse? That contact at the Marina said the boat was set to sail in 20 minutes." Gat's trademark irritation marked every word. He was outside in the Boss' custom Zomkah, waiting for what had been described as "a quick chirp at me bruv." Needless to say, that chirp had been anything but quick as brothers do tend to get carried away.

"Don't get your fucking knickers in a knot, Gat. I'm comin' out now." Drake clicked the phone off and tossed it back in his pocket. He stood up and adjusted his collar before Jake took the unspoken cue to get up as well; blood or not, Drake was still The Boss. "Look, Jay, I gotta tie off this last loose end before I can even dream of settlin' in back at The Row. Meanwhile, you gotta hold things down here until I do. We may have squashed the gangs for now, but you know how this cricket game goes."

Jake merely nodded and leaned in for the obligatory bro-hug before Drake was quickly swallowed by his walls of hired muscle and ushered out into the night and Gat's impatiently waiting ride to the Marina. Jake stared after the closed doors of Kanto for a minute while he slowly accepted his new status as the most powerful man in Stilwater. Lucky for Jake, a big slice of humble pie sat waiting for him at another table downstairs.

The lowest floor of Kanto is known as the Dojo. It wasn't always called that, but after being the spot where The Boss turned Jyunichi into Beef Teriyaki, the name just kind of stuck. The Dojo is also host to the "lower class" customers of Stilwater; those Kanto wished would get their meals at Freckle Bitch's or Apollo's, but cash is cash at day's end. Needless to say, lax service equals sketchier ambiance. As such, every night The Dojo would be hazy with a fog of smoke from variously questionable sources. As Jake made his way through it towards a particularly crowded table in the corner, he spotted the people he was looking for. One was sulking with his thick arms crossed over his chest and the other was pounding shot after shot of what he seriously hoped was just rice wine.

"Shaun-di! Shaun-di! Shaun-di!" the raucous crowd of people chanted as they pumped their fists and gave each other high fives in celebration. Most of them were probably too plastered to know why they were cheering, but one reveler got a little too inspired and decided to grab a handful of supple Shaundi ass.

"HEY! What the hell! You stu—" Shaundi whipped her dreadlocked head around and began protesting at the glad handed bastard, but was abruptly cut off by the crash of a wooden chair shattering over the groper's unfortunate head. In a flash, all eyes swiveled up towards the figure still holding two partial chair legs and a fearsome glare at the now unconscious man who lay in a heap on the floor.

"I know I'm a bit late to the party, but did I miss the bit where the lady asked you to pinch her arse, you guttersnipe?" Nobody said a word in response. While the role of Boss was new to him, most of Stilwater's underbelly knew full well who Jake Peppermill was, even if Jake himself was unaware of how quickly the underground spreads word. Somehow, one person found a voice, as he rarely failed to do. It was the sulker in the corner.

"Jesus H Christ, Jake. Is Shaundi's ass really worth killin' a guy over? I mean seriously, that seat has seen more action than a barstool at TeeNay!" The sulker exclaimed. Pierce. It could only be Pierce; no one else had such blind contempt for someone as popular as Shaundi. Pierce wasn't jealous of her status, so much as the way he felt she went about attaining it. Namely, by banging dudes and harvesting information.

"Watch yourself Pierce, I'm in no bloody mood for any more bullshit than I already have on my plate." Jake grumbled as the crowd began to disperse.

Pierce saw the look in his new Jake's eyes and went back to his sulking position in the corner of the booth. "I noticed you didn't tell me I was wasn't _wrong_ about Shaundi's ass though…" Pierce muttered under his breath.

"Thanks Boss," Shaundi purred as she turned to face her brash savior. "But for the record, I _totally_ could've taken that guy."

A slight smirk crept across Jake's otherwise stony demeanor while in the corner Pierce's face was the very picture of shock and awe. "BOSS? What happened to, you know, THE Boss?" Pierce's panic was twofold; one, The Boss Drake was a big defender of Pierce and two, The Boss never _did_ Shaundi, so there was no need to worry about favoritism there. As it was, Pierce had his suspicions about Shaundi and Jake.

"Yeah Pierce, Drake just made me Boss while he and Gat go chase down that Dex bastard. I'm not sure how I feel about myself, but that's where the chips lie, friend." Jake replied heavily. Coming up in the gang like Jake did, always behind the scenes, never calling more attention to himself than absolutely necessary, being a figurehead sat oddly on his broad shoulders.

Pierce was still floored, both by the abrupt change in status as well as Shaundi, once again, being ahead of the curve, and certainly more so than Pierce who was still a lieutenant himself.

"Whatever man. What I wanna know is why did _Shaundi_ already know this and I didn't?" he whined.

Shaundi only blushed, which in act alone was unusual for someone as loose as she was. Pierce did not fail to notice. "_YOU'RE BANGIN' THE BOSS?"_ he wailed like cat tread under his own size 13 boot.

In a flash, Jake was on top of him, right knee buried in Pierce's gut and his same hand clamped over Pierce's loud mouth. "Easy Pierce. This thing started weeks ago, long before I even dreamed of the move." He wagged his finger between himself and the still demure looking Shaundi, who seemed almost frantic to find more of the rice wine from earlier. Anything to be elsewhere while the boys talked about this particular matter.

"Mman-mou-memmo-uh-mah-moof-mow?" Pierce uttered through Jake's vice grip.

"What'd you say?" Jake asked, knowing more or less what was said as he released his hold and rolled into the seat across from Pierce.

"Never mind _that_ man," he said as he readjusted himself and squared his shoulders, "I just wanna know what you plan to do with her _now_, seeing as how most people won't be as cool about this shit as me."

Jake's expression was the mask of composure, but behind it, his emerald eyes were weeks in the past. Back at Purgatory where the whole affair with Shaundi began, when his brother towed her in and laid her on his bed next to the hot tub. It didn't seem like such a big deal then, but hindsight being 20/20, Jake was now wishing he had handled himself a little differently.

"I dunno, mate. I hadn't really thought that far ahead," he admitted.

Pierce huffed and leaned back in the booth, having figured the new boss was apparently just as forward thinking as the old one. "You'll figure something out, Jake. By the way, why do you switch back and forth between that accent and regular English?"

Jake hadn't realized he'd done that. However, the explanation was simple. "I use the accent when I talk with Drake because it's the way he remembers me, so he prefers it. I also use when I'm pissed off because it's the Brit in me. But unlike him, I was mostly raised here in the states, so I'm comfortable in both. Understand?"

"Whatever man, all I know is that all these changes are making me seriously hungry and not for none of this rice and noodle bullshit." Pierce announced as he rose from the table and patted his stomach. "Who's down for some Chicken Bazooms and Fries? I got a hot date with a Freckle Bitch!"


	2. The Wolf at the Door

Chapter 2: The Wolf at the Door

Jake had been riding around all night in the custom Kaneda motorcycle that formerly belonged to Shogo Akuji. He recalled a conversation where Drake expressed his lack of desire in riding a dead bitch's bike. Jake however, appreciated custom anything, so he took it gladly.

As the hours passed, he watched the sky change from the soft pinks and oranges of sunset to the darkest navy blue of nightfall. Around him, the city was a patchwork of businesses, residential neighborhoods, and brothels, which blurred into a seemingly solid wall of gray as he flew through the night to nowhere in particular. The roar of the bike sounded like a buzzsaw slicing through the barrel of wind that screamed in his ears.

_You can't run away from this Jake; you are The Boss of the 3__rd__ Street Saints now. Everyone is looking to you for direction, time to man up and cut your ties._

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock. That's why I hate having to change my life around from the way it was before." He spoke to himself as he slowly eased up on the gas and rolled to a stop in the driveway of a house a little ways north of the trailer park. Without having consciously deciding to, he found that he had ridden all the way from his loft in the Red Light District to Shaundi's house up in the Suburbs. He cursed himself quietly and got off the bike just as the engine whined to its end. He then stretched out the riding kinks as he reluctantly made his way to the darkened front door.

"Hmm, the lights are off," he muttered, "maybe she's already asleep." He checked his watch that told him it was just past two in the morning; high time for even someone as social as Shaundi to be home, asleep or otherwise. Nonetheless, he fumbled in his pocket for the key she had given him and let himself inside.

"Shaundi, are you here?" Jake whispered into the pitch black living room of the apparently empty house. While he fumbled for the light switch, his nose caught a scent that brought promise into this seemingly fruitless visit. "Nag Champa" he said quietly. Jake and Shaundi had been seeing each other for a while now, but always on the lowest level of the proverbial "down low". Even a lieutenant like Shaundi should know better than to get into bed with The Boss' younger brother. However, this is Shaundi, a girl who knows no bounds when it comes to reason. Veteran Child could have told you all about it.

"Shaundi' Jake called out in a stage whisper, "are you awake?" He padded his way into the big bedroom in the back where the star-crossed couple had many an eventful evenings, few including much sleep. Jake knew the layout of the room by heart and found his way to the cold side of the bed. His side, that is. It was just then that he noticed a familiar shape rising just above the bed level. A largish oval with many twisted tendrils jutting out at odd angles, backlit by the incense stick Jake smelled on his way in. It was Shaundi; up at two in the morning sitting on the floor, in the dark, by herself. It didn't take a criminal mastermind to know what caused this uncharacteristic silence; Shaundi had figured out that Jake's new status meant the good times were over. That , or her many sordid connections filtered the message down the line. In the end, Jake knew it didn't really matter what the reason, no Boss can afford a weakness like that in this game.

"Look, Shaundi, let me just get this out in one go and then I'll leave, ok?" Jake's accent crept into his voice; he was uncomfortable. "You know me, you know how little I want this. But, you also know my brother and the way he runs this gang; 'All or nothing, no compromises, no bollocks'. I can't afford to leave the kind of leverage out there that you are; that _this_ is." He motioned to the pair of them despite Shaundi's turned back. "So, this is where the rubber meets the road, see? We had some capital times, you know the ones I mean." A memory of two stoned lovebirds taking potshots at Ultor Police Cruisers with Flashbangs thrown from the top of the southern overpass passed through his mind. He almost thought he could hear one of the cruisers brakes squeal to a sudden halt as the flash of the weapon popped behind his closed eyes. He smiled. "Anyway, I figure since you're up and not too many people know about us, we can have one last go in here…if you're in the mood that is."

"Always, Boss." A smoky voice purred from the doorway behind him. Jake leapt off the bed in a blink and had his .44 Shepard leveled at the face of the intruder. He found his mark so quickly because the person standing in the doorway had thrown on the lights. As Jake's eyes adjusted, he found himself staring at the shocked face of the woman he came to see. Shaundi, hands in the air like she was being mugged, which, Jake quickly realized she kinda was, at least in appearance.

"Shaundi?" Jake hollered. "What the bloody hell are you doing in the doorway?"

Shaundi's face relaxed, but she kept her palms up anyway. Years of having some psycho's gun in your face will do that to you, even if you happen to be sleeping with the psycho in question. It also helped to be partially high all the time; eases the nerves.

"Not that I'm _not_ into some freaky stuff Boss, cuz I am, but do you think you could put the gun away so we can do…whatever it is you came here to do tonight?" Anxiety crept through Shaundi's normally aloof facial features, and Jake was quick to respond.

"Shaundi, how long were you standing there before you said something?"

"Not long Boss, I came in when you were saying something about getting it on tonight and then I popped the lights to see what you were doing back here in the dark." She dropped her hands and slinked her way over to Jake's side, dropping her ass in his lap and throwing an arm around his broad shoulders. Shoulders that were still rigid with tension. "You need to relax Boss, you're all keyed up over nothing. You know I'm down for this."

Jake took a deep breath and looked down into Shaundi's half-closed eyes as if they held the secret to making what he really needed to say easier. After half a beat, he realized that they didn't and she was probably baked anyway so she wouldn't remember it well. "Look Shaundi, I came over here to tell you something."

"Right, that this is your last night out of the spotlight and you're looking for one more incredible night with yours truly." Shaundi laid her hand over her heart and rolled her eyes with a smile. "But if that's the case, why didn't you just call me instead of sneaking over here in the middle of the night and copping the moves on my hookah?"

Jake's head whipped around to the Shaundi's head shaped thing on the other side of the bed. He had forgotten his confessional from earlier. Sure enough, there was Shaundi's deep purple-hued hookah propped up in front of the nightstand looking every bit the profile of its owner. "Fuck me," Jake sputtered. "That damn thing looked just like you in the dark."

Shaundi laughed. A raspy little chuckle, followed by a heavy sigh let Jake know this conversation had lead to the one thing he knew he wanted most, but also knew he was giving up for good come sunrise. "You're funny Boss," Shaundi teased, wiggling out of purple jeans that seemed more like a second skin than denim. "But enough jokes, the sun will be up in a few short hours and I'm not the least bit tired." She climbed on top of him, reaching over Jake's head to click off the light, her dreadlocks falling onto his chest like heavy ropes that would soon bind him to the mattress.

"Shaundi," Jake whispered as nimble fingers slid his jersey over his shoulders.

"Uh uh, Boss, no more talking" Shaundi breathed in his ear. "We can talk in the morning when you take me to breakfast."

"Oh, Toss it." Jake said as he gave into his instincts and indulged in one last night before he accepted the mantle his elder brother had lain at his reluctant feet.

Pierce hated running patrol. He figured that being a Lieutenant entitled him to _not_ having to do boring things like drive through a territory that was purely Saints-run now. Things like that should be handed off to some recently Canonized person who had no authority to argue. Nonetheless, the previous Boss had assigned Pierce to the Ronin and its subsequent territories. So today that meant he was cruising the boardwalk in his Mag SUV, looking for signs of trouble and collecting due monies from the stores the Saints owned here. At the moment, he was arguing with the manager of Branded Clothing over the necessity of said monies owed.

"Saints run this town now, why do I still have to pay protection money?" The gangly woman behind the register chirped at a very irritated looking Pierce.

"I already told you woman, its not _protection money_ now, its _RENT!_" In his heart of hearts, he knew this line was pure bullshit, but it was the prompt Jake gave him to run with, so he did.

"But I OWN this store! It's _my_ property!" she shrieked with a quivering hand on her bird-like chest.

Pierce glared at her under the lowered brim of his Stilwater Sharks ball cap and slammed both hands on the counter, knocking over a display of socks nearby. "Look lady, either you cough up the cash or I get all Heritage Festival up in this bitch. Is that what you want?"

The Festival reference worked on most all the merchants in the Marina District since they had all witnessed first hand the destructive power of a singular irritated 3rd Street Saint. The Boss had destroyed at least three Junk Boats, and even a few civilian vessels in the fireworks explosion that killed Kazuo Akuji.

The woman's face went whiter than the sails on the Pirate Ship docked down the boardwalk. "Y-yo-you wouldn't." She challenged weakly as it was clear by the pulsating vein in Pierce's neck that he more than certainly would, and definitely would enjoy it.

Pierce sighed audibly and bent down below the counter. A second later, a Satchel Charge appeared on the counter and it's detonator was clutched in Pierce's fist. "Last chance lady, you can pay up, or get your store _blown the hell up_, you choose." His voice was actually quite calm, despite the situation.

"Okay, okay, I pay, I pay!" the clerk cried out. "But I file a complaint with Stilwater Better Business Bureau!" Her spindly finger shook at a clearly unimpressed Pierce who was already one foot out the door with the cash in hand. Suddenly, she noticed the Satchel Charge was still on her counter. She went to move it only to find that it was fused to the countertop and would not budge. "Hey mister! What about your bomb?"

Pierce smirked over his shoulder and held up the detonator he still had in his other hand. "Just a little motivation for you to decide _not_ to file that complaint." He chuckled. "Have a really nice day." Before the woman could protest any further, he punched the gas and left three feet worth of fresh rubber on the entrance to the store, swerving wildly to avoid pancaking a massive Asian guy riding a motorcycle. He knew that clerk would be spending most of the rest of her night peeling it off, and laughed all the way to his next stop.

Jake had called for a meeting with his lieutenants the next night back at Kanto. He wanted to clear the air about the change and also ensure Gat and Pierce knew he'd gotten his priorities in order with regards to Shaundi. He had made sure to reserve the private room on the third floor for this meeting, as he wanted no interruptions and no eavesdropping whatsoever. He even supplied Kanto with a few willing Saints to take the orders and bring the food just to eliminate the possibility. Currently, he sat at the head of a large rectangular table with Gat at his right, Shaundi at the opposite end, and Pierce to his left. The distance between Jake and his former lover was intentional, a fact Pierce quickly noticed and appreciated as shown by his lack of displeased posture, which at this point was considered his usual stance.

"All right you three, tonight is the first night I'm stepping up and claiming the crown Drake left at my feet. I want you all to know that I have laid down my previous responsibilities as Tailor and am ready to lead." Jake paused for effect and immediately noticed Pierce's face screwed up with confusion. "There a problem, Pierce?"

Pierce actually scratched his head. "Yeah, when the fuck did we ever have a tailor? I had to replace all my own shit every time it got messed up! Why can't nobody tell me we had a tailor?"

Everyone else laughed hard at Pierce's expense, but it was Shaundi who broke rank and answered first. "He wasn't an _actual_ tailor Pierce. Tailors fix holes and mend things right?" she propositioned.

"Yeah?" Pierce's old stance returned; arms crossed on chest. "So?"

"So, Jake here was he one to 'stitch things up' behind the scenes, you know what I'm saying?" She even did air quotes with her fingers as if Pierce weren't just a step slow but an actual child.

"Oh, you mean like he cleaned up the mess Drake left behind at Kanto when he shish-kebobed Jyunichi? Moppin' up blood and shit?" Pierce's face broke into a smile hopeful that he was back on the same page.

Jake scowled and answered for himself. "Not exactly, Pierce. I wasn't a _janitor_, I was a _Tailor_. It was my job to ensure things were left in such a way that the proper spin was put on what the cops and reporters would find when they followed Drake's trail of destruction across Stilwater." He paused for effect. "When he killed Maero, I was the one who called it in to the police. When he killed Shogo, I was the one who dug his sorry ass back up to confirm he was dead."

Just then, Johnny Gat broke his uncharacteristic silence. "Was he?" It came out as little more than a whisper. The tragic loss of Aisha was still very raw for Gat, he had a long road yet to go before he'd be over it; if he ever was.

Jake's cold green eyes were maybe a shade warmer. "Dead as a doornail, Gat. But I plugged him one with my Vice 9 just to be sure." Gat nodded and said nothing else. "Anyway Pierce, I did the same things with The General and Vogel, ensuring always that we were only as implicated as we intended to be; and never more.

"So, does that mean we need a new Tailor then, Boss?" Shaundi inquired as she sparked a bowl and leaned back in the booth as if she were home and not out in relative public. The way she propped one slender leg on the table threatened to force Jake's mind off his intended path. He shook his head and focused on the sudden pounding of feet on stairs that was increasing in volume until everyone was staring at the door, each with their hand on a gun. Except Johnny, who had his hands on two.

"I said 'No interruptions!'" Jake bellowed that the unknown runner. His voice was full of a cocktail of equal parts rage and calculated malice.

"Boss, I just got word that the entire Boardwalk is on fire!" the detatched voice called out.

Jake rushed to the door and opened it to find a scared looking Saint who huffed and puffed like he had run here from the Marina District without stopping. "What do you mean the _whole _Boardwalk?" Disbelief hung on every syllable; how could a whole district catch fire and no one reported it to him until it was all ablaze?

"Every single building is on fire except—except one." The Saint admitted feebly, he knew the building in question would only rile The Boss into a fury as it drew a very clear, and very straight line to the likely perpetrating faction.

"Which building?" Jake seethed.

"Uh, um well, you see…harrumph!" his hesitance was abruptly cuy off as Jake seized him by the throat and pinned him to the adjacent wall like a quivering painting of fear.

"Which bloody building did you say?" Jake's body was rigid with anger which only served to instill more fear into the unfortunate Saint. Luckily for him, three little words found a way through his unnaturally narrowed airway.

"Poseidon's Palace Casino."


	3. Fire & Rice

Chapter 3: Fire and Rice

The once picturesque Boardwalk of Stilwater more closely resembled Hell as it was engulfed in flames that reached nearly to the top of the 11-story Heron Hotel. Stilwater F.D. was flying through the smoke filled streets doing their best to quench the seemingly unstoppable flames' thirst. It was in a way beautiful, Jake thought as he hovered high above the inferno; beautiful…and very expensive.

"Jesus Christ, man. That shit reminds me of that Samedi pot farm we burned down a while back. 'Cept this isn't all that tragic; damn capitalist scum." Tobias lamented in his typical stoner drawl.

Jake clamped a vice grip hand on the helicopter pilot's shoulder. "That _shit_ down there is what pays for your habit, this chopper, and everything else we need to stay on top of this city." Jake seethed as the chopper began to list slightly to the right. "That _shit,_ is like watching our money burn!" Jake breathed heavily as he slowly relaxed his grip on Tobias' shoulder; he noticed the chopper leveled out as a result.

"Chill, Boss, he didn't mean anything by it." Shaundi replied in defense of her fellow pothead. Her face was it's normal calm mask, beneath which Jake hoped in spite of himself some fondness still lingered. However, her use of the title "Boss" made him feel like she had already begun to distance herself; a tactic Jake knew he ought to be employing as well.

As the chopper made it's way east across the district, Jake motioned to Tobias to set down on the Casino's helipad, which was the only feasible spot in the midst of all the smoke and fire. Jake mused that only a stoner pilot like Tobias could land safely, glaring through such a haze. "Right there, Tobias. Wait here with the chopper, we'll be back in an hour."

Tobais shrugged indifferently and lit up another spliff. "Whatever you say, man. I'm in no rush."

Jake, Pierce, and Shaundi made their way down to the security room on level two, where they hoped to review the security footage and find some clues as to who this mass arsonist was. Jake never even considered any other cause for the blaze. When they entered the room, a trio of frightened looking guards dressed in grayish police uniforms stood in a neat row just in front of the wall filled with monitors. They looked from Jake, to Shaundi, then Pierce and their faces reflected fear, lust, and confusion in turn.

Jake ignored the trio and addressed his lieutenants instead. "Shaundi, you and Pierce queue up the footage from the last 24 hours. I want you to find out when and where this fire started as well who the fuck I am going to kill for burning my boardwalk!" His clenched fist came down hard on a nearby laptop which sparked and popped with the impact. One of the guards whimpered a little; he was working on his resume when he saw the chopper land; now he'd have to start all over.

"We're on it Boss," Shaundi replied evenly. "You running off to meet up with Gat?" Her shaped eyebrows dancing slightly with the inquiry because she was very interested as to why Gat had come back to town from helping the old boss with his mission, but not accompanied them on the chopper ride over.

Jake turned to the door before answering, sticking one foot out before he said anything at all. "Not that I owe you an explanation, but yes." Jake answered bluntly, remembering other times Shaundi's eyebrows danced like that.

"What the hell is his problem?" Pierce said with more than a hint of sarcasm.

"No idea." Shaundi replied, knowing more or less the real reason for the outburst. She too had lingering emotions for the now untouchable Boss, the most insatiable one being regret.

The casino floor at ground level was entirely devoid of life aside from the buzz of firefighters and flames outside. The building had been roped off at the street and even had a 10-foot high wall of flame-retardant tarps and scaffolding around the perimeter; obviously someone had gone to a lot of trouble to spare the casino from the conflagration around it. Gat walked at an even pace around the inside of the makeshift barrier, mostly because of the heat of the flames that threatened to find a way inside at any moment. His assessment of the situation was thorough, and he would share every bit of it with The Boss once he made it down here. In fact, he had told Gat that he was expecting this very analysis when he landed at the casino, which is why he called him back from Drake's search for Dex and sent him ahead of the chopper. See, Johnny Gat wasn't only a stone cold, calculating killer it's just what he's best at.

"Will you look at this?" Gat said to no one in particular seeing as he was alone for all anyone could tell. What had caught his eye was a padlock holding together a set of chain link doors at one entrance to the casino. On the padlock was a circular emblem with a creature's head emerging from white waves set against a yellow background. At first glance, Gat immediately thought of the Ronin, a gang The Boss finished off a while back now. But a more intensive examination revealed that what would have been the dragon's black head on the emblem was in fact a howling gray wolf.

"Jesus H. Christ!" Gat whispered. A crunching sound just behind him alerted Gat a second too late that he was no longer alone. Before he could turn and draw his sidearm, he was caught up in a bearhug and thrown bodily from the padlocked gate into a pillar of whitewashed concrete nearly 10 feet away. As his vision slowly faded back into focus from the haze of blurred stars it was now, he saw a hulking gray mass sauntering over to the heap of immobility he currently laid in. He knew he wasn't paralyzed since his fingers were slowly making progress groping for the Kobra automatic pistol in his waistband, but his body simply refused to move much beyond that. He cursed his brain for being a pussy. "Who the fuck are you?" Gat questioned using The Old Boss' catchphrase to great effect.

The gray blur said nothing, but crept closer muttering something that Johnny only recognized as Japanese. The blur stopped about three feet in front of Gat and motioned with open palm for him to reach back and grab the gun he thought he'd been covertly digging at. Not one to waste a golden opportunity to easily blow away an enemy, Johnny did just that as his vision finally cleared enough to start lining up a kill shot. In a flash of gray and white Gat found that half of his gun was somersaulting through the air while the now useless portion was still clutched in his willing grasp. "Goddamn it!" he cursed audibly. "You crazy fuck, you almost cut off my killin' hand!"

"I don't _almost_ do anything, half-breed; I either do or do not, there is no such thing as failure for me." If death had a voice, it was the one which spoke these ominous words to the normally unshakable Johnny Gat. The sound was a blend of whispers, falling leaves, and the gravelly tones of a death rattle. It was meant to be the last sound you ever heard, and only a killer as prolific as Gat could appreciate it.

"So, what, you gonna stand there and shank an unarmed man lying on the ground, eh, tough guy?" Gat challenged. He knew the vulnerability of his current position and figured a warrior's gauntlet might give him a chance to get to his feet. Suddenly, he wondered if his legs would even hold him up, they still felt mostly gelatinous.

"You are not a warrior Johnny Gat, you are a murderer plain and simple. You have _no honor._" In a flash, the unmistakable barrel of a pump-action shotgun materialized on Johnny's chin. "Warriors die on the battlefield with their company to avenge them, dogs die in the street with only their fleas to mourn their passing."

"Fuck you, grey back! You wanna see my honor? Let me up, and I'll show you what a real warrior looks like!" Gat replied, pushing back on his elbows in an attempt at regaining his feet.

The shotgun forced Gat back down to the ground with a force that seemed drastically stronger than one man and a gun barrel should. Gat knew he would not rise to his feet now, and maybe not ever again. But as the barrel slowly climbed up past his nose on its way to his forehead, Gat caught a whiff of a scent that had no business in the current situation.

"What the fuck? Why does your gun smell like—" Gat was abruptly cut off by a dull thud from behind his attacker which sounded impressive but did little to sway the beast.

"Coward," the grey beast rattled. "Who is the spineless whelp who would attack The Great Masaru from behind?"

"_Masaru? _ Oh shit." Gat muttered. He intended to speak out loud, but then his clearing vision identified the source of the stumble-inducing thud. It was Jake, wielding a sledgehammer.

"Johnny, you ok?" Jake asked, his emerald eyes never leaving the stark still grey form in front of him.

"He's doing better than you are, swine." Masaru threatened.

The sudden defiance in Jake's face reminded Gat immediately of the old Boss, Drake, who seemed to always glare in just the same rage-ful way. "The fuck you say?"

A jagged line cut across Masaru's battle worn face, it took a minute to recognize, but Jake decided it was this guy's version of a smirk. Jake puzzled himself about why this would be ninja (he was wearing the typical uniform, just without a mask) should be smiling while Jake was still holding a deadly sledgehammer. In another incredible blur, he found out why. Jake felt a crack against his chin and the world flew over his head as he was knocked directly onto his back. All his breath left him in a painful _whoosh._

"Boss, no! You gotta move!" Gat cried out desperately, because he had seen the shotgun Masaru had tucked behind his back, which was now coming around to train on Jake's stunned face.

A swift back kick shut Gat up with the quickness. "Silence, vermin. You'll get your turn." Masaru refocused on Jake and laid the tip of the sawed off barrel on Jake's heaving chest. "You first." He growled. Then he pulled the trigger, and Jake's whole world faded to black.

As his mind drifted off into blissful unconsciousness, he pondered one final thought.

_Why do I smell like pork fried rice?_


	4. It began with an ending

Hey Reader(s)!

Been a looooong time, but I am back!

I am beginning to write an ALL NEW story connecting Saints Row: The Third to the Presidential, Saints Row IV!

Jake and the gang (sans Gat) will appear in the new story, along with all your favorites from SR:TT. Please spread the word and follow along on the epic new journey of the Peppermill brothers and the 3rd Street Saints!

-Hafriko


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